smile held a touch of bitterness. ‘There’s more than one form of slavery,’ she said quietly. ‘And, believe me, I’d be out of here tomorrow, given the chance.’
Julie stared at her, her bright face suddenly troubled. ‘Are you really so unhappy?’ she asked gently.
‘No, no, of course not.’ Joanna shook her head. ‘Just a touch of the blues, that’s all. I—I have some big career choices looming.’ And that’s only part of it.
Julie got to her feet. ‘Well, if you want my opinion, you should become a nanny,’ she said, adding hastily, ‘But not the stiff and starchy sort. I think you’d be magic, and then, when Chris and I get seriously rich, we can hire you.’
‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ Joanna said with forced cheerfulness.
‘And as for wanting to get out of here,’ Julie went on, ‘my gran always says, “Be careful what you wish for, because you might get it.” So watch yourself, and please don’t get whisked away before dinner tonight.’
Joanna laughed. ‘I promise. But after dinner—all bets are off.’
Alone again, she returned to her book but found it difficult to concentrate. Julie’s suggestion that she might become a professional nanny had set new ideas and career possibilities buzzing in her head, and she couldn’t dismiss them, although she could foresee the problems of trying to free herself from the current situation.
She knew that Uncle Martin would get her back to the UK if she asked for his help.
But Dad needs me, she thought. He said so from the start. Things were going well for him then. So how can I desert him when the going’s got tough?
She collected her things together, put on her tunic, and began to stroll back towards the hotel. She hadn’t gone far when she spotted the hotel manager heading towards her, looking harassed and talking volubly, hands waving, to a plump middle-aged man with a swarthy skin and heavy moustache who was walking beside him, expensively dressed in a silk suit.
And Monsieur Levaux is the last person I need to run into right now, Joanna thought grimly. Plus I wouldn’t fool him even if I was wearing a sack over my head.
She turned swiftly away, taking a narrower path to the right which circled the gardens and led out onto a small promontory beyond.
As usual, she had it to herself. Few of the guests ventured far from the pool, the beach or the various bars.
She lifted her face to meet the slight breeze from the sea as she walked across the tussocks of grass to the farthest point, and looked out over the rippling azure water.
The big yacht was still there, riding at anchor like a dignified swan, with small boats circling it like inquisitive ducklings.
On impulse, Joanna went over to the telescope that someone had helpfully erected on a small concrete platform, and fed the requisite number of centimes into the slot. She adjusted the focus and guided the tube into a slow sweep of the whole bay before returning to its current most prominent feature.
The first thing she looked for was the name, but the letters along the bow were in Greek, so she was none the wiser.
However, it couldn’t belong to Onassis, because he’d died the previous year, nor, indeed, the rich sheikh her father had been hoping for.
And is that a good thing or a bad? Joanna wondered wryly.
In close-up, the yacht was even more spectacular, and Joanna found herself speculating how many crew members it took to preserve that stringently immaculate appearance. There certainly didn’t seem to be many of them around at the moment, scrubbing and polishing.
In fact, she could see just one solitary individual leaning on the rail of the upper deck, and adjusted the telescope for a closer look. Her immediate thought was that he didn’t belong in his pristine surroundings. On the contrary.
He wore no shirt, and she was treated to an uninterrupted view of deeply bronzed powerful shoulders and a muscular torso. With his tousled mane of black hair and the shadow of a beard masking his chin, he looked more like a pirate than a deckhand. In fact he made the place look distinctly untidy, she thought, deciding that he was probably someone from the engine room who’d come up for a breath of air.
She saw his hand move, and something glint in the sunshine. And with a sharp, startled catch of her breath, she suddenly realised that the tables had been turned.
That she herself was now under scrutiny—through a powerful pair of binoculars. And that he was grinning at her, displaying very white teeth, and lifting his hand in a casual, almost mocking salute.
How had he known she was looking at him? she asked herself as a wave of embarrassed heat swamped her from head to toe. And why on earth had she allowed herself to be caught in the act like some—some peeping Thomasina.
On the other hand, why wasn’t he swabbing the decks or splicing the mainbrace—whatever that was? Doing something useful instead of—spying back?
Feeling intensely stupid, and wanting to scream in vexation at the same time, Joanna hurriedly abandoned the telescope and walked away with as much dignity as she could muster.
Which wasn’t easy when every instinct she possessed and every nerve-ending in her body was telling her with total certainty that he was watching her go.
And knowing at the same time that it would be quite fatal to look back and check—even for a moment.
CHAPTER TWO
‘So THERE you are.’ Denys marched briskly into the sitting room, kicking the door shut behind him.
Joanna, curled up in the corner of the sofa, finishing off the remains of her breakfast rolls which had not improved with keeping, glanced up warily.
‘It’s where you told me to be,’ she pointed out mildly, observing with faint disquiet the brightness in his eyes, and the tinge of excited red in his face. There was a bunched tension about him too that she remembered from other times. That, and the way he kept clenching and opening one fist.
She added, ‘Has something happened?’
‘It has indeed, my pet. We’re about to hit the jackpot—bigtime.’ He paused for effect. ‘Do you know the name of that yacht in the bay?’
Oh, God, she thought, cringing inwardly as she remembered that insolent, mocking grin. It would have to be that.
‘I didn’t learn Greek at school,’ she said. ‘Only Latin.’
He waved an impatient hand. ‘Well, she’s called Persephone. And she’s owned by no less a person than Vassos Gordanis.’
Joanna frowned. ‘Should I have heard of him?’
‘You’re hearing now.’ Denys came to sit beside her. ‘He’s Atlas Airlines.’ He counted on his fingers. ‘He’s the Andromeda tanker fleet. He’s the Hellenica hotel chain—the outfit currently buying the building we’re living in, along with all the other BelCote hotels.’
He smiled exultantly. ‘He’s
